“At first I did it for monetary reasons. The service’s salary wasn’t enough, and I needed the money. By then I’d already created the snowball and had to keep doing it. I wanted to quit but couldn’t.”
East Africa’s smallest capital hugs Africa’s deepest lake, Tanganyika, with a well developed beach culture that is a far cry from the poverty stricken, conflict-scarred Milimani hinterland. Buja, as it is known to its residents, surprisingly bears the trappings of a coastal city complete with mango trees and palms, despite its being hundreds of kilometres from the Indian Oceans.
The descent into Bujumbura’s searing heat is bumpy whether by the steep and narrow winding road from the mountains or through the small airport, which is almost deserted. Bujumbura is not like any other East African capital. It’s the old capital of a small African country that has constantly flirted with conflict.
The lakeshore capital city, famous for sleek lates fish species — (Lates stappersii sp.) locally known as mukeke, a narrow fried delicacy exclusive to Lake Tanganyika — and its big beers has a healthy dose of chaos and drama in its day-to-day life.
The chaos and drama begin on the narrow, winding mountain roads cutting through the matooke and palm tree wilderness — on which daring cyclists often cling dangerously onto trailers of ascending trucks or coast down at terrifying speeds at the risk of plunging into the deep ravines on the side of the road.
Urban Bujumbura fares much worse — matatus and taxis compete with recklessly-driven private vehicles for space, creating scenes similar to those of Kampala’s infamous traffic jams, where motorcycle riders do not bother to wear helmets and drivers do not bother with seatbelts, unlike in orderly Rwanda.
The resulting road rage is clearly out of police control, with the supposed custodians of the law conspicuous by their horribly faded dark blue uniforms, which make them look more like boy scouts after a punishing hike than policemen.
But for all the chaos, Burundians are a pretty happy lot. High ranking government officials welcome you into their offices, often without an appointment, with perfect French and a sprinkling of a local Kiswahili that borrows heavily from Tanzania’s Kiswahili sanifu, Congo’s Lingala laced with accidental insertions of French to yield a linguistic wonder, and of course Kirundi, the language of the Barundi.
Adorning the walls of government offices are portraits of former presidents — I count 13 and chuckle quietly that after all my own country of Uganda is not the record holder in the department of ex-presidents. The last picture is the airbrushed studio image of a clean-shaven handsome young man, the current leader, President Pierre Nkuruzinza. The young leader, a former rebel, but now a Christian pastor who passes his spare time encouraging Burundians to grow more avocados or playing football, seems to be leading the country well as it takes its first hesitant steps towards lasting peace and regional integration.
But peace is already a reality on the streets of Bujumbura and a sort of touch-and-go calm envelops the city; at least by the number of happy- go-lucky fellows who by the early afternoon are out on the sidewalks with wooden tables and chairs to enjoy the products of Brarudi, the country’s only brewer and soft drink maker and the largest taxpayer.
Legend has it that through all the decades of conflict, Brarudi survived because of an unwritten pact by the various combatants not to attack the plant, with the warring parties letting each other have their daily shipment of free beer from the brewer’s premises. Burundians love their drink and it comes in the big sizes. All meals are accompanied by a beer. Even though the entertainment circuit goes to sleep every Monday and wakes up only on Friday, the quiet pubs do roaring business all week. “Batu banapenda maisha,” a local acquaintance remarks about how people like to enjoy life when he notices the shock on my face at seeing the roadside bars.
Buja is a melting pot of new and old. Gracious old buildings struggling to stay upright among the fast sprouting new structures, fading colour versus new eye-catching paint, old roundabout monuments struggling with new fancy billboards. Buja’s night life betrays the new East African cultures creeping into town — the Ugandan and Tanzanian music and the older Congolese rumba, Coastal Zilizopendwa flair and a well-entrenched jazz and soul culture in the most popular hangouts like Koromboka and Havana.
Regionally-famous Kenya-based homeboy Kidum inspires lots of Burundian pride, wherever his music is played. The signature Bujumbura hangout is a bar-cum-open air disco serving hundreds of exotic wines and spirits (plus fried chicken and fish to add to the delicious brochette — roast meat on metal skewers.)
On the beaches, where Burundians go to enjoy the cool breeze or take a dip in the lake, you would never guess that this is a country fresh out of war. At Borabora beach, you will be forgiven for thinking you have just landed on an exotic Caribbean island complete with speedboat rides, idyllic blue waters meeting the mountainous skyline, which a waitress tells me is actually in the Congo. On a white wooden deck next to the water, a cozy white settees with brightly coloured pillows offer comfort. A wooden hut next to the bar marks the owner’s dreamy domicile.
But the real Bujumbura experience is the main market in the centre of the town, where one can literally get anything they want. Unlike markets in Rwanda, which are more orderly, here the immense variety of wares makes up for the chaotic bustle, beggars at the entrances side by side with fresh fish or fruit vendors. From spirits, locally processed palm oil, richly woven kitenges in a riot of colours, leather wallets, name it. Young wines sell for as cheap as four dollars, all bearing “imported by Kenya Wine Agencies Ltd labels.
If you thought the” rest of East Africa has little to learn from our smallest neighbour, you will be in for a shock. On Sunday mornings you will see groups of Burundians old and young, running or walking around the town, especially up into the surrounding hills and back. It’s a national obsession to keep fit and avoid lifestyle diseases. And those are the country’s ironies — a healthy beer culture with a pastor for president, a less than helpful disregard of timekeeping but a keen national sense of personal health not by expensive gym sessions or supplements but by simple weekly runs into the hills.
